


Countdown to Absolute

by ceemobster



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Marriage Proposal, bruce has an impulsive tendency to count down to things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceemobster/pseuds/ceemobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this year’s summer solstice, Bruce has planned a very special date night for him and Clark. Unfortunately, plans don’t always work out, not even for the Batman.</p><p>A follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7378243">The Luxury of Pretending</a>, but can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown to Absolute

**Author's Note:**

> The intention was to write around 1k to match The Luxury of Pretending, but things got a little out of hand.
> 
> Reviews/comments are always welcome!

Twenty-six minutes and four seconds.

Bruce turned the engine off. He looked at his reflection on the rear-view mirror and decided to lose the tie. The plan had been to first return home from work before leaving for the date, but the meeting with the R&D project managers had drawn out much longer than expected. No matter. The most important thing was that he was here now. He checked his watch.

Twenty-four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

He stepped out of his car. For possibly the hundredth time that day, he shoved his hand into his pants pocket. The box was still there. He took a moment to get his breathing under control, practiced one of his quickest meditation techniques. Once confident that his heart rate was relatively regular, he glanced at his watch again.

Twenty-two minutes and two seconds.

He walked to the entrance of the rather small, nondescript restaurant. It was a dessert place, specialising in ice cream, one of Clark's favourites in the city. The automatic doors slid open for him.

"Hey, Bruce!"

_What the hell?_

Bruce stopped at the doorway and turned around, finding none other than his bespectacled boyfriend jogging towards him, smiling a little too brightly, as always. Bruce checked his watch again.

Twenty-one minutes and forty-one seconds.

"You're over twenty-one minutes early," Bruce voiced his thoughts. He knew he sounded at least slightly annoyed, but he _was_ annoyed, considering he had been banking on a little more time to compose himself before Clark's arrival, so he didn't try to issue a gentler greeting. Clark was used to his antics anyway.

As if proving Bruce's theory, Clark chuckled good-naturedly. "You don't sound pleased," he said, catching up to Bruce. "I submitted a draft a full day before it's due, Perry was so surprised he let me get off early. Guess I've just been really excited about this particular date night." He shrugged. "Last time we went here was months ago."

"Right," said Bruce. "Perry ought to thank me."

"He really should," Clark laughed. "Now, shall we?" He circled his hand around Bruce's arm, the one with the hand still in the pocket, squeezing the box. Bruce's heart made a leap. "Are you alright?" Clark asked, obviously having heard it.

"Fine," Bruce said briskly, all the while forcing himself back into a passably placid state. "Come on."

They picked a corner booth furthest away from all the other patrons, conscious of the heads turning to peek at them. Without the cowl on, Bruce's was a very recognisable face in Gotham, and since their first public date as Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent a year and a half ago, Clark had gained some recognition for himself, too. The tabloids dubbed them 'the Prince and the Pauper', which was painfully stupid, considering that it was not a tale of lovers but of two identical-looking boys who switched places. Bruce had not-so-seriously debated suing the tabloids in question several times, but had decided it was out of character for Brucie to sue the press. Each those times, Clark had agreed with a sigh of relief.

Clark ordered a serving of blueberry cheesecake for them to share, a hot fudge sundae ("three scoops, with extra caramel syrup, please"), and a glass of cherry soda, while Bruce opted for a simple chocolate sundae. As the waiter wrote down their orders, Clark eyed Bruce curiously, but did not say anything.

Not until the waiter left anyway. "Alright, what's going on?" Clark finally asked. "We're at my favourite ice cream place, we're having dessert before dinnertime, and for once this is all _your_ idea. On top of that, you're getting actual ice cream instead of the usual frozen yoghurt."

"Is that so strange?" said Bruce, shrugging. Calm. Nonchalant. Considering the storm wreaking havoc in his mind, he deserved a damn Oscar for his performance. "It's the summer solstice, one of your favourite days of the year. Just want you to have a good time."

"Oh, Bruce..." Clark smiled, wide and bright and heartfelt, his whole body radiating warmth. "I always have a good time with you, doesn't matter where or when or what we do."

"Don't get sappy on me." Bruce rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the slight upward quirk of the corners of his lips. No matter how many times he had seen that thousand-watt smile, he would always feel a sense of childish pride in bringing it out. "Tell me about that draft."

They talked about their jobs for a while. For the most part, Bruce was the one asking questions, while Clark was happy to answer. It was a highly preferable arrangement for him, since he didn't know if he trusted his voice to speak to Clark in length. He was already preoccupied enough with both focusing on Clark's stories and maintaining his heart rate. When their orders came, Bruce covertly glanced at his watch again, starting a new countdown for the second stage of his plan in his head.

Two hours, forty-two minutes, and fourteen seconds.

"Oh, by the way, Ma called this afternoon," Clark said around a piece of cheesecake.

Bruce's heart dropped to his stomach. Martha wouldn't tell Clark... Would she? "Oh?" Bruce managed to force out.

"Yeah. She sounded a little strange, but wouldn't tell me what's up."

Alright, so Martha hadn't told Clark. Or maybe she had and Clark was just playing dumb. But Clark wasn't very good at playing dumb, was he? And at the moment, he didn't look like he was hiding anything.

"Well, what did she say?" Bruce asked, once again impressed by how calm his voice sounded.

Clark swallowed a spoonful of ice cream. "It was pretty normal stuff, actually. Asked how I was doing, how you're doing, how Alfred's doing, and the kids." He forked another piece of cake while Bruce merely picked at his sundae. "Asked about the temperature here and in Metropolis. Then she asked if I had anything planned for tonight."

"Is that strange?"

"I guess not," Clark said, eyebrows scrunching together. "It's just the way she talked, I guess. Her voice. Almost like..." he paused, seemingly taking a moment to find the most appropriate description, "like she was holding back a giggle."

Bruce shrugged. "At least that doesn't sound bad. I thought she might be sick or something."

"No," Clark said, shaking his head. "I know what she sounds like when she's sick, and that's not it."

They moved on to other subjects after that, much to Bruce's relief. Bruce ended up pushing his half eaten sundae over to Clark, and after all the food was cleared, he placed a hundred dollar bill on the table and stood up.

"Come on," he said. Calm. Nonchalant. He discreetly tapped his pocket to make sure the box was still in place, then checked his watch again.

Two hours, five minutes, and fifty-four seconds.

"We going home?"

"We need to get some real food eventually, and Alfred's the best at providing real food, so yes."

Clark chuckled. "Alright."

Bruce put his arm around Clark's waist as they walked out of the restaurant. Two teenagers sitting at a table near the door sneakily took pictures of them with their phones, which Bruce pretended not to notice. Clark tried to do the same, Bruce could tell, but he was failing miserably, cheeks flushed and eyes cast down. Bruce rubbed lazy circles on his waist for comfort.

"It's been over a year and you're still not used to it," Bruce said once they got in the car. "Meanwhile, Superman is capable of braving hundreds of cameras at once with a smile or a heroic pose."

"Well, yeah. Superman isn't shy," Clark said, frowning. "Clark Kent, however... I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"Just one of the little conundrums I love about you," said Bruce.

He remembered a time when he had forbidden the word between them, his mind, his heart, his whole being too afraid to shoulder the emotional responsibility that came with it. Clark, the stubborn man that he was, had loved him anyway.  Eventually, he had learnt to overcome this fear, as he did any of his others, even if he probably still did not say it enough.

Already beginning to drive, Bruce kept his eyes on the road, but he could practically feel Clark beaming next to him. "I love you, too, honey. And all your conundrums."

It wasn't a far drive home, and soon enough, they found themselves standing in Alfred's kitchen. The first thing Bruce did when they walked into the room was check the digital clock on the counter.

One hour, fifty minutes, and seven seconds.

"Here you go, Sir," Alfred said, handing Bruce a large, dark brown picnic basket.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Clark eyed the basket, frowning slightly. "What's that?"

"It's not lined with lead, Clark."

"You want me to look?" Clark cocked an eyebrow. On top of the fact that Clark was uncomfortable with using his x-ray vision unless necessary, it had become sort of an unspoken rule that he did not use it around the house.

Bruce sighed. "It's food. I told you we're getting real food."

"Why is it in a basket?"

"Because we're going out," Bruce replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. His heart made another leap.

Clark, of course, did not miss it. "Bruce, you sure you're alright?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You seem... nervous."

Clark looked unsure of his own statement, so Bruce decided to take advantage of it. "Why would I be nervous?" he said, faking confusion. "Now, do you want to get changed first or are you comfortable in that?"

Clark looked down at his work attire. "Depends on where we're going."

"Somewhere rather windy."

Although the days were getting hot, the nights were still chilly at times, and after consulting the weather forecast, Bruce decided to put on a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. He was careful to replace the box into the pocket of his new pants, of course. Clark changed into a sweater, one of those that Bruce had given him, Bruce pleasantly noted. It was arctic blue and it made Clark's skin look luminescent. After appraising Clark's form for a short but satisfactory amount of time, Bruce glanced at the clock on their bedroom wall to update his countdown.

One hour and forty minutes.

He laced his fingers with Clark's, kissed him on the cheek, and gently pulled him along. Clark went with him, let himself be pulled despite not knowing where Bruce was leading him.

"So, we're going on a picnic?" asked Clark. His smile was blinding and Bruce had to suppress the warmth spreading through his own chest. "I think this is the best day of my life."

Bruce smirked. "Don't speak too soon, you'll jinx it."

"When did you become superstitious?"

Bruce did not respond to that, only continued to pull him down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, however, Clark stopped.

"Alright, playboy, you're not doing this just to celebrate the longest day of the year," he said, squeezing Bruce's hand affectionately. "It's not our anniversary, it's neither of our birthdays... What's up?"

Bruce contemplated between tugging at Clark's hand again, somehow forcing him to move (as impossible as it was without Clark allowing him to), or forming a hopefully adequate enough excuse for his sudden whimsical behaviour. Before he could decide on either, however, Damian and Cassandra appeared in front of them, demanding their attention.

"We're going to Grayson's."

Bruce looked his youngest son over, eyes zeroing in on the overnight bag slung over his shoulder. Next to him, Cassandra had a matching one over hers. "Why?"

"I thought you might want to ha-" Damian's gaze darted to Clark, then quickly returned to Bruce. "He and Gordon are getting a dog, and he wishes to consult with me. We're going to discuss it tonight while patrolling and we will go with them to the shelter tomorrow. Cassandra wants to see the shelter, too."

"Yes," Cassandra said softly, nodding in agreement.

"While patrolling?" Clark asked Damian and Cassandra. "You're patrolling with Dick in Blüdhaven tonight?"

Bruce tried to find a safe exit out of the conversation, but failed.

"Are you going out alone then?" Clark turned to Bruce.

"No, I'm not going on patrol tonight."

"You're not?"

"Kate and Lucas are filling in for me."

"Why?"

Because," Bruce sighed, "Because I want to go _picnicking_ with you.

Clark blinked once. Twice. "What is going on?"

"Kent," Damian addressed Clark, but ignored his question. Bruce looked on as his youngest son took a sure step towards Clark, head tilted to look up, eyes boring into Clark's. "I want you to know that I'm grateful for your presence in this household," said Damian.

Clark's lips parted in surprise, but he managed to recover quickly enough, even though his voice still shook slightly when he spoke. "So am I, Damian." He nodded. "I love each and every one of you."

As Damian stepped back to his previous spot, Cassandra stepped to the front in turn. She looked up at Clark with unwavering eyes, took one of his hands with both her own, opened his palm up, and drew a heart on it with her finger.

Clark immediately fell to his knees and hugged Cassandra. "I love you, too, Cass," he said. "I love all of you. So much."

The sight sent Bruce's heart into somersaults. Being way past the point of suppression, he just hoped Clark was too invested in what Damian and Cassandra were doing to notice that his heart rate had once again soared.

Damian cleared his throat, prompting Clark to let go of Cassandra. "Grayson is waiting," he announced.

"Right." Bruce heaved a sigh of relief at the interruption. "Go ahead. Be careful, alright?" He walked his kids to the front porch, all the while tugging Clark along, who apparently had decided to allow himself be dragged around again, or had only accidentally allowed it due to being in a state shock. Either way, it did not matter to him, as long as Clark wasn't asking questions.

Dick's car was parked in the driveway directly in front of the front steps. The kids filed into the back seat immediately, while Dick, in the driver's seat, rolled his window down. Bruce could see Barbara in the front passenger seat waving at him around Dick.

"Hey, Bruce, Clark!" Dick said, grinning. "We're borrowing the kids tonight, alright?"

"Be careful," said Bruce.

"No worries." Dick held his thumb up. "You two have a fun night!" With that, he rolled his window back up and the car drove away.

"Shall I bring up the car, Gentlemen?" Alfred said from behind Bruce and Clark.

"No, Alfred, we'll get it from the garage," Bruce replied. He wasn't about to stand idly with Clark even for a couple minutes, fearing the barrage of questions that would surely befall him. "You go turn in early tonight. Don't wait up for us."

"Gladly, Sir."

Bruce was about to drag Clark back into the house to head to the garage when someone opened a link to his comm. He tensed, immediately turning to Clark at the signal. Clark was frozen on his feet, already in the Superman posture, the look on his face telling Bruce that he was receiving the same call. Not bothering to be subtle about it anymore, Bruce checked his watch.

One hour, twenty-nine minutes, and fifty-four seconds.

A short crackle, and then Diana's clear voice streamed in. "Batman, Superman. I'm speaking from the Watchtower. Metallo is terrorising Centennial Park." Another crackle. "I'm sorry. Flash is unfortunately handling his own crisis in Central City, and the others are..."

A second later, Clark was already in uniform. "Off world. I'm on it," he spoke into the comm. "Bru-"

"I need to change first. Don't go without-," there was a breeze, "-me," Bruce said to empty air. _Ah, shit_.

"The plane, Sir?"

"The plane, Alfred."

* * *

"Superman, stay with me."

Batman was flying the plane as fast as he could, full throttle to its maximum capacity, even bypassing the few safety factors he could afford to. The Man of Steel lay haphazardly in the plane, his head on Batman's lap. Not a minute ago, there had been a piece of Kryptonite lodged in his side, just above his right hip, and though it had been expertly removed, he was still reeling from the effect. Of course, he would be healing faster if it were still daytime, but unfortunately for their part of the globe, the sun had already set.

The sun had already _set_ and Superman had been _stabbed_ and Batman was _furious_.

"Superman. Are you wi-"

"Bruce... You really... pummelled..." Superman croaked out.

"Yes, I ripped him apart, but he'll live."

"You're... angry?"

"Yes," replied Bruce, without a hint of hesitation. "I told you not to leave without me."

"Hmm."

Bruce glanced at his comrade, finding the corners of his lips upturned. "Are you _smiling_? Am I _amusing_ you?"

"No... I'm sorry, no," he sheepishly apologised in true Clark Kent fashion, and just like that, he was no longer Superman. "It's just... Remember what you said... about jinxing?"

Bruce shot him a glare. "Now isn't the time, Kal."

"Guess what," Clark said. When Bruce glanced at him again, he was still smiling. "It's still my favourite day."

* * *

Bruce carefully hauled Clark onto a cot in the middle of the cave. He ripped off what was left of the top part of Clark's uniform and pulled the bottom part down to get a better look at his wound. It was already beginning to heal, but still too slow for Bruce's liking. Clark, now fully awake, tried to sit up to get a look at himself, but Bruce pushed his chest down. He pulled off his cowl and gloves and began to methodically attach sensors around Clark's wound. Meanwhile, Alfred answered all communications streaming into the cave, telling Damian, Cassandra, Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Diana, and Martha Kent of their current condition.

"I'm fine," Clark sighed.

"You're healing slowly. I need to know if there's any fragment of that _damn_ mineral left in there and if I need to operate."

"There isn't, Bruce." Clark propped himself up on his elbows. Bruce tried to push him down again, but this time he refused to budge, held Bruce's hand in his instead. "Believe me, if I have even the tiniest piece under my skin, I'll know. Now, can I please have some pants? Or a towel at least?"

A couple minutes later, the monitors brought out the readings of the sensors, confirming that Clark was right. Bruce sagged on a nearby chair and closed his eyes, wanted to sink into the floor. The night had not proceeded _at all_ as planned. Clark had almost died, the perfect picnic on top of Wayne Tower had been cancelled, they had missed the sunset marking the end of summer solstice, and the ring... _The ring_.

"Alfred." Bruce shot up from his seat. "Alfred, the... box... My jeans!"

"Not to worry, Sir," Alfred calmly replied, swivelling in his chair to face Bruce. "It's in your room, on the bedside table."

Bruce sagged back onto the chair. "You're a lifesaver."

"What box?" Clark asked, looking back and forth between Bruce and Alfred.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with that, Sir, not for the moment," said Alfred. "I believe you owe your mother a phone call. She's been up all night, worried sick."

It was a good thing that Clark always listened to Alfred. While he was on the phone with his mother, telling her that he was alright, Bruce stripped down to his undersuit, then snuck away to the manor and up to their bedroom. He found the black velvet box exactly where Alfred had said he would. Bruce flipped it open with a finger and sat down on the bed. The platinum ring inside the box glared at him, mocking his failure at accomplishing the perfect proposal. All of his planning had gone to waste, all those _damn_ countdowns.

"Bruce?" Clark called out from outside the room.

With the box in hand, Bruce quickly ran into the closet. He shoved it into the pocket of a pair of shorts and then looked for a shirt to wear. When Clark walked into the closet, he was already wearing said shorts and was in the middle of putting on a clean, grey t-shirt, his undersuit lying on the floor. Clark, only wearing a towel around his waist, began to look for clothes, too, but Bruce grabbed hold of his wrists and gently pulled him over to him.

"Let me see that," he said, spinning Clark to once again examine his wound. He pulled the towel off and dropped it on the floor.

Clark chuckled. "I like it when you get straight to the point."

Bruce looked up at his face and glared at him, but quickly returned to the wound—or what was left of it anyway. The skin was pink and still looked a little raw, but the wound itself had sealed shut. Bruce lightly traced his thumb around the scar that it had left. In several minutes, there wouldn't be a mark left and Clark would be perfectly alright again.

Suddenly, there was a hand on Bruce's chin, tilting his face up. "Hey," Clark said, voice soft. "Thank you for saving me, my hero." The thousand watt smile was back on his face.

Bruce couldn't stay mad at Clark for long, no matter how much he tried, especially not when he was smiling like that, bright as the sun. So when Clark kissed him full on the lips, he simply moulded himself into the kiss. It remained chaste and sweet for quite a while, but with adrenaline still coursing through their bodies, they both turned hungry, greedy hands began exploring. The fact that Clark was completely naked certainly contributed to it, too. Clark's palms splayed flat across Bruce's chest, while Bruce circled one hand at the back of Clark's neck and the other on his waist. When Clark started nibbling at the skin of Bruce's neck, however, he had to pull away. There was still something he needed to say, after all.

"I had a really special night planned for us," Bruce began, holding Clark's face with both hands.

"The picnic?"

"Among other things."

"Hmm, I think it's not too late to catch up on some of those things." Clark placed his hands on Bruce's waist and pulled him flush against him.

Bruce chuckled, placing his hands on Clark's shoulders and gently pushed away. "I didn't mean _that_. Well, maybe, eventually, but there's something else."

Clark looked at Bruce curiously. "What is it?"

"I was counting down to sunset."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to ask you something."

"At sunset?"

"Well..." Bruce placed a kiss between Clark's eyes, which were currently lost in confusion.

Feeling warm all over, Bruce then took a step back to marvel at the brilliance that was Clark Kent. Whole and perfect in every way. A burning sort of beauty. Bright as the sun. A striking contrast to his own darkness. The day to his night. Clark was the day, always had been, always will be. Because Clark wasn't sunset. He was sunrise.

"Actually... Why don't you take a shower and get dressed? I think I can ask you in a moment," Bruce said, already walking away.

"Why can't you ask me now?" Clark furrowed his eyebrows.

"In a moment, I promise," said Bruce firmly. "Just take a shower, get dressed, and meet me on the patio in the garden."

* * *

Bruce stood leaning against a pillar on the patio, watched as Clark walked across the garden towards him, illuminated by the lamps on either side of the stone path. The sky was still dark, which was perfect, because he had a new countdown in place, calibrated for the specific location. Once Clark reached the mouth of the patio, he glanced down at the watch on his wrist.

Eighteen minutes and fifty-six seconds.

"Hungry?" Bruce asked, motioning to the selection of bread, the various kinds of jam, cheese, and butter, a couple plates of greasy bacon, and a smoking teapot on the table. "We didn't have dinner, so why not an early breakfast?"

Clark practically slammed onto Bruce, arms wrapping tight around him. In fact, Bruce would have fallen back if not for Clark holding him up. "Why are you indulging me like this?" Clark asked, baffled. "What insidious motives do you have this time, Mr Wayne?"

Bruce smirked. "What I want comes later. First, we eat."

They were both hungry, so it did not take long for the food to go. Once Clark had downed the last of his tea, Bruce checked his watch again, while his other hand grasped for the box in his pocket.

Two minutes and twenty-two seconds.

"Alright, so, are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

"In a moment," Bruce said, repeated the mantra. He held his right arm out, motioning for Clark to scoot closer to him on the bench. "Let's watch the sunrise first. You need to heal anyway."

"I'm already healed," Clark protested, but snuggled into Bruce willingly.

They sat in silence, looking up the open sky, basking contently in each other's presence. In a few hours, they would be pulled apart by their separate jobs, and maybe in a few weeks, they would have to part for separate League missions. Nothing was ever constant in the lifestyle they had chosen for themselves. It definitely wasn't ideal, especially for the controlling streak in Bruce. Bruce liked things to be organised. Certain. Constant. Absolute. Perhaps that was exactly why he was doing this. Because if he could make just one thing an absolute in his life, it would have to be his family. And Clark had become an essential part of that family.

He pulled his left hand out of his pocket, holding the box.

"You feeling alright?" Bruce asked.

"Perfect."

He checked his watch.

Fourteen seconds.

"Look in that direction," he said, pointing with his chin since he had one hand on Clark's waist and the other holding the box.

Eleven.

"The sunrise?" asked Clark.

Nine.

"The sunrise."

Seven.

Bruce raised the box up to his chest.

Six.

Colours began to dance on the horizon.

Five.

Bruce flicked the box open with his thumb.

Four.

"Clark," he began. "I love you."

One.

"I lo-"

 _Zero_.

Rays of warm light cascaded across the sky, painting the darkness with soft strokes. Bruce's heart was hammering completely out of control. He forced himself to turn his head and look at Clark, who had grown rigid next to him. Clark's eyes were wide, jaw hanging open, hands twitching on his lap. He was staring at the ring like it was hypnotising him. Other than that, with the sunlight beginning to caress his skin, he looked beautiful. Luminous. Iridescent. Bruce had to remind himself to breathe.

But then he could not breathe, because Clark was mercilessly kissing him. His arms wrapped around Bruce tightly, perhaps a little too tightly, but Bruce allowed it, wanted nothing else in the moment but for Clark to hold him. Right there and then, he felt perfectly content. He felt... _happy_. Bruce's hand and the box were wedged uncomfortably between their chests, but that did not deter them. Clark's tongue traced Bruce's bottom lip, and when Bruce parted his lips in an inaudible moan, he took advantage of it and licked into Bruce's mouth.

Eventually, however, Bruce had to squirm, because unlike Clark, he could not go without oxygen for too long. "I never got to ask the question," he said once Clark allowed him to breathe again.

Clark moved on to peppering kisses all over Bruce's face. "The. Answer. Is. Yes," he spoke in between kisses.

"Traditionally, I need to slip the ring on your finger."

"Okay."

Bruce did exactly that, carefully removed the ring from the box and slid it into place on Clark's finger. All the while, Clark looked down at it, fidgeting slightly.

"Rao, Bruce. Those diamonds. Do I even want to know-"

"The price? No, you don't."

"Well, at least now I understand why everyone's been acting so weird," Clark laughed. "Who did you tell?"

"Your mother. Alfred, obviously. The kids. Diana. I was going to take you on top of Wayne Tower, since it’s the tallest in the city, and do it at sunset."

Bruce could almost see the gears turning in Clark's head, his mind going through all his interactions throughout the day. "Oh. And Damian and Cassandra went to... So that's why... Oh," Clark muttered, face lighting up with realisation.

"I didn't ask them to leave the house."

"Hmm." Clark placed a hand on Bruce's cheek and rested his forehead on his shoulder. "They're thoughtful kids. Just like you."

"You should call in sick today. I mean, you did just get _stabbed_."

"I _am_ thinking of calling in sick, though not for that reason," Clark mumbled against Bruce's skin.

"Clark," Bruce laughed. "My point stands. You just got stabbed. You almost _died_."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Clark's hand slid down Bruce's chest and then came to rest on Bruce's upper thigh. "I'm fine. And you’re exaggerating. I didn’t almost _die_." His thumb gently pressed on Bruce's crotch and began rubbing.

Bruce wanted to stress that Clark could have, if he hadn’t been there to save him, but what came out of his mouth was a soft gasp. "You're insatiable, Mr Kent," he said when he could concentrate again, then paused. "Kent-Wayne? Wayne-Kent?"

Clark bit down on Bruce's earlobe playfully. "I don't care." He replaced his thumb with his whole palm, working more confidently.

"Clark," Bruce warned. His breathing was becoming laboured, heartbeat rapid once again. "We don't want to scar Alfred."

Clark stopped his ministration and looked up, regarded Bruce with pleading eyes. "Can I?"

Bruce sighed. It was another rule he had established between them that Clark did not lift him up and fly him unless absolutely necessary. This time, however, he had to admit, it seemed like a good idea to humour Clark, not to mention he would prefer for them to get to the bedroom as soon as possible. "Fine," Bruce said. The next thing he knew, they were both lying on their sides on the bed, facing each other.

"My fiancé," Clark said, beaming. He gently pressed his finger on the top of Bruce's nose. "I love you, fiancé."

Bruce groaned. "You were so impatient down there, but now you want to act like a five year old?" He pushed himself up and quickly rolled on top of Clark, forearms resting on either side of Clark’s head. "Just kiss me," he said, lowering his face.

Clark, of course, was eager to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr: [mobsterwriter](http://mobsterwriter.tumblr.com/) (writing/rp blog) and [justiceclique](http://justiceclique.tumblr.com/) (personal/fandom/mostly-DC side blog)


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